I have heard ravens all day today here on Örö, one flapped out onto the warm orange sunlight above the sheltered inlet where the pink rocks have settled themselves.

I got up this morning to practice on them, thinking I might even go into the sea. The wind whipped up and I grew cold after sitting and decided that hot buttery toast was a better idea. Then I discovered some very pale green colours in the rocks amidst some pinkish ones born with ripples escalating through them. The green was really distracting - I'd not properly noticed before that the rock was green and that it was not the influence of the algae colonies that fur and drape the rocks further down at the waters edge with a kind insouciance despite the lividness of their hue. It's like the rocks are tripping the green is so outrageous. The green in the rock is different, its actually a sort of mucus nasty green but incredibly pretty in the midst of the pink rocks - and its delicate tributaries a bit like micro-organisms in a dish.. Thrroughout this drift of a sensorium I then saw a purple rock, a deep lavender with peppering of pale green low-lying lichens - I had to gaze it for a while, and give it a nuzzle, it was being hugged by one of the ubiquitous juniper trees, a male one I believe (no berries). Behind it was one of the now familiar archipelago spruce trees which are curved into extravagant curls, their branches devoted to the multi directions of the winds that gust and blow in and around. This one was perhaps dying or dead, unclad with any obvious foliage, but its mornings shadows were startling. It stood behind the purple rock, the entire situation vital and vibrating with its presence and thereness.

I picked juniper berries for some kraut, having ordered some kale and instead been deliver a massive green cabbage. I thought the berries might introduce some local microbial mites to add to the fermenting goo of the cabbage. It's too salty - but still good. The berries haven't made much impact flavour wise yet, but I like knowing they’re there.